Because I write fiction that is based in the real world, it's going to lead people into some of the modern dilemmas and concerns and even catastrophes that they will think about in a new way.

she's never forgotten, either, how a mystery caught in the hand could lose its grace

Sleeping alone seemed unnatural to me, and pitiful, something done in hospitals or when you're contagious.

From the fallen tree everybody makes firewood.

It is completely usual for me to get up in the morning, take a look around, and laugh out loud.

Shoes would interfere with her conversation, for she constantly addresses the ground under her feet. Asking forgiveness. Owning, disowning, recanting, recharting a hateful course of events to make sense of her complicity. We all are, I suppose. Trying to invent our version of the story. All human odes are essentially one, "My life; what I stole from history, and how I live with it.

Mr. Shepherd, ye cannot stop a bad thought from coming into your head. But ye need not pull up a chair and bide it sit down." - Mrs. Brown